


a way

by flybbfly



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, M/M, Orpheus and Eurydice Myth, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 19:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13643103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flybbfly/pseuds/flybbfly
Summary: Neil dies, and Andrew has to convince Hades to let him come back.





	a way

**Author's Note:**

> this is an orpheus and eurydice AU but I played kind of fast and loose with both mythology and history.
> 
> for [jojen-hewitt](http://jojen-hewitt.tumblr.com/), who asked for greek myth AU.

Neil always said it was the lyre that made him fall in love with Andrew. Andrew likes to pretend that's not why he kept playing it long after he needed to, but since he quits the day Neil dies, the lie doesn't work, not even on himself. 

He should've known it wouldn't last. With Andrew, nothing good does.

*

They met because Kevin, bewitched by a dancing oak nymph, dragged Andrew into the woods. Neil said, in that funny bright voice of his, “You're the one who plays the lyre in the meadow.”

“Yes,” Andrew said, a little startled. 

“Well then,” Neil said. “Play.”

*

“Why don't you try to do something about it?” Nicky asks.

“No one comes back from Hades,” Aaron says. “It would be a waste of his time. He'd just wind up disappointed.”

“I mean, mortals don't come back from Hades.” Nicky levels a long look at Andrew. “Dude, isn't your dad Apollo?”

“We don't have a dad,” Aaron replies, and then frowns and turns to Andrew, too. “Wait, our dad _is_ Apollo.”

Andrew stares back at them coolly. He and Apollo haven't spoken since Apollo dropped this stupid lyre in Andrew's lap and taught him to play it. Apollo has too many children to bother with the defective ones, probably. The son of a god and all he has to show for it is a stupid instrument. 

“Hercules had a god for a dad and a mortal mother,” Nicky says. “He went to the Underworld. Why can't you?”

“Hades doesn't let anyone out,” Aaron says. “Especially not someone like Neil.”

“He's probably in love with him,” Nicky says. “Maybe you can play that up or something.”

“It's worth trying,” Kevin says. He talks almost as rarely as Andrew does now. Maybe he blames himself. 

Andrew stands up and leaves the room.

*

Neil died on their wedding day.

It was stupid. Kevin drunkenly challenged him to a footrace. Neil, ever-competitive, accepted. Andrew remembers leaning back on the grass, not annoyed, lightheaded and lighthearted, sipping wine and letting Nicky talk into his ear about some sport. 

Then Kevin running back, tripping over his own feet, face white. “It's Neil.” 

Andrew doesn't remember standing up or running into the woods, which is strange because he remembers everything. 

He does remember Neil on the ground. 

“It was a viper,” Kevin said. “I don't know how to help him.”

It was too late anyway. Neil was dead before Andrew reached him. 

“At least he wasn't in pain for long,” Nicky said when Andrew brought Neil back. “He didn't have to suffer.” 

It took all Andrew's self-control not to stab Nicky where he stood.

*

“I mean, yeah, sure, you can go if you want to,” Apollo says when Andrew requests an audience with him. Apollo doesn't even look surprised to see him. Probably a lot of his children show up demanding things from him. “Hades will obviously let you come back, we're family. Not like you and your brother, either, he actually likes me. You still play the lyre?”

“No,” Andrew says.

“You should take it with you. Persephone is a huge sucker for some good music. I think they must not get any down there.” 

“How do I get Neil back?”

“He's a mortal, right?”

“A wood nymph.”

“Hm, that's a tricky one. You should just go ask. I'm sure he'll do you the favor, it's no big deal, I mean like a thousand people die every day or something right? You guys—well, not you guys, but mortals and semimortals in general—die all the time. From any shit. How did Neil die?”

“A snake,” Andrew says. “Hades will let him come back?”

“You'll probably have to make some kind of deal with him. Be careful, though, he's a tricky bastard. Don't bullshit either of them, just tell them the truth, you know? Your lover died. It's a shitty situation.” Apollo chuckles. “You know, I kind of miss him. Hades, I mean. Maybe I'll go down there with you, say hi to old Uncle Underworld. What do you think?”

Andrew wouldn't know. He leaves the temple.

*

Being the son of a god has rarely done anything for Andrew. He doesn't burn in the sun, and he plays the lyre pretty well, and he's always been good with a bow and arrow. That's about it.

Except now. Apollo gets him into the Underworld with relative ease. There's no river crossing or torture to go through. He just walks out of the temple, and walks into Hades' court.

“It's not often we see one of you here,” Hades says. “Usually Apollo's sons stay out of trouble. Well, not out of trouble. Just out of the way of death.” 

He doesn't look how Andrew imagined him to look. 

Andrew says, “I want to play you a song.” 

Hades opens his mouth, but next to him, Persephone says, “Oh? Then play.”

Andrew plays.

*

For the son of a god and a wood nymph, Andrew and Neil lived a humble life. Andrew whittled wood and took on occasional carpentry projects; Neil competed in athletic events and maintained a store of herbs to help people with a variety of problems, from illness to a desire for love.

Neil always said Andrew could probably earn great riches if he played for some king or queen, and Andrew always replied that the lyre was boring and that if they needed riches, they'd steal them. 

“I've stolen gold before,” Neil said, reclining on their couch. 

When they were alone, Neil always dressed down, legs and shoulders mostly bare. He covered the scars around other people, but around Andrew he never cared. After all, Andrew had seen them all before and been indifferent. 

Neil continued, “My mother and I needed to eat, and we were close to the sea. No woods to forage.”

Not really indifferent, of course; if Andrew thought about too much, that little kernel in the pit of his stomach that could still feel rage would start to pulse, and he would stare a little too much at the burn on Neil's shoulder or the scarred skin on his face. So much of what Andrew remembers about Neil is just that feeling, that need to protect him, a desire to build a moat and a dozen towers around their house so no one could ever get in and touch Neil again.

“You could have fished,” Andrew said. 

“I don't like saltwater fish. We stole gold instead, and then we used it to buy bread at the market.”

“Why not steal the bread directly?”

“I would have,” Neil said. “When I was younger, I did it all the time.”

“What changed?”

“It was easier to steal gold when I was older. Nobody at the market suspects a child with his mother. Everyone suspects a dirty teenager. So I went to pubs, picked drunkards' pockets, and used the winnings to buy us a feast and a bed for the night.”

Andrew could imagine it. Neil the nymph leaning close to some drunk merchant, spinning his lies with that unearthly beauty. The poor drunks never stood a chance. Neil probably didn't even know that was why his lies worked so well. Who wouldn't want to believe some gorgeous boy found them charming? Who wouldn't let him cop a feel and steal their money?

“Not because of some sense of nobility then,” Andrew said. “Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor.”

Neil laughed. “I didn't care about any of them. I just cared about not getting caught.”

That was the irony of it all. In the end, it wasn't Neil's father or one of the people he stole from that got him. It was a snake in the woods, and wasn't that exactly what Neil had been the whole time? A forked tongue, always lying, could barely keep his stories straight; and always in the woods. Sometimes when Andrew woke up he'd see Neil just coming in from some long nighttime trip to the forest to do whatever it is wood nymphs do. 

Andrew could have built a hundred moats and a thousand watch towers. He could've hired a whole army to keep Neil safe, and Neil still would have gone to the woods to race Kevin, and he still would have died.

*

He plays for so long his fingers go numb. He plays every song he knows, and when he finishes, makes new songs up.

Persephone closes her eyes and smiles. Then she stands up, curls her fingers around Hades', and twirls around the room with him. She makes up words to sing along. She sits back down and weeps. 

“Your music is so beautiful,” she says, “but it is so sad. What has made you so sad, son of Apollo?”

“I love someone who died.”

“Death is no cause for grief,” Hades says. “It is simply a new journey.”

“It isn't my death I care about.” Andrew's throat is surprisingly dry. He swallows. “It's Neil's.”

“You want to switch places with him?” Hades says. “That is easy to do. Your life is worth a little more, since you are the son of a god, but—”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Persephone says. “He wants to take Neil back with him.” 

“Oh. Well, that's a good deal more difficult.”

“He would not be the first person you gave back to the upper world.”

“But if he looks at him—”

“Yes, everyone knows that.”

“It is impossible.”

“Can't we try?”

“Why bother, if it won't work?”

Andrew watches them, and, desperate, starts to play again. His fingers are clumsy: he hadn't played at all in the last year, and has now played for longer than he's ever played before. 

Persephone and Hades turn to watch him. She gestures to Hades, who nods slowly. 

Andrew doesn't know what else to do. He says, hating the word even as it comes out of his mouth, “Please.”

“There are rules,” Hades says. “You have to walk back to the upper world.”

Something in Andrew's chest gives. It has become suspiciously difficult to breathe. 

“You can't look at him. He has to stand behind you.”

“How will I know you aren't lying?”

“You won't,” Hades says. “You will have to trust that he is there, and then walk until both of you reach the upper world.”

“I'll give you a tip,” Persephone says. “Don't turn around at all, even when you get back. Wait until he catches up to you.”

That's it. He's supposed to trust the lord of death and his wife. He just has to believe that Neil is there, and if he isn't, Andrew will get to the upper world and wait and wait and wait. 

“How far behind me will he be?”

“He's fast,” Persephone says. “He'll catch up fast. That's not the hard part.”

Andrew gets it. It's a test of self control. 

“If you look at him, he'll be dead for good,” Hades says. “That's how it works. If someone living sees a dying soul, the soul stays dead. So you can't look at him until he's alive again.”

“Just bring him.”

“He's already here,” Persephone says, smiling. “He's right behind you.”

Andrew's reflex is to turn. He barely stops himself. 

“How do I know?” he says.

“It's me,” Neil says. 

Andrew exhales all at once. There is no way it can possibly be Neil. It's a trick. It's bullshit. Apollo warned him.

“I know you think I'm a liar,” Neil says, “but it's really me. Trust me. Just this once.”

“Go that way,” Persephone says, pointing to a door off the side of the hall that Andrew didn't notice before. “Walk until you see the sun, and then walk until you see your home. Don't turn back. Don't look at him.”

“If you see him, he is dead for good, and no amount of lyre-playing will save him,” Hades says. “No matter how much my wife likes it.”

“Why don't you play while you walk?” Persephone suggests. “To take your mind off the distance.”

Andrew's fingers are raw and chapped. He doesn't want to touch this lyre ever again. He wants to set it on fire. 

“Please,” Persephone adds. “As a thank you present, for our generous favor.”

Andrew hates the idea of owing anyone anything, especially the god and goddess of death. He plays.

*

Andrew walks. Neil is behind him. He has to believe that. They don't talk much, but he has to believe it. Those footsteps aren't his imagination. That slightly labored breathing isn't just his own echoed back at him.

They walk through layers of dead people. Some of them notice Andrew's lyre. Some of them notice Neil. That's the other way he can believe it. No one fawns over Andrew's beauty.

“What a sad song,” a dead girl says, reaching out, inches away from Andrew's lyre. “Why are you so sad?”

Andrew ignores her and keeps playing. His fingers have blistered. He's never played this long before, but he keeps at it anyway. It's a good distraction from the actual act. It's a good way to keep Neil behind him, even when they pass through the darker parts of the Underworld, even when it's too dark to see.

Andrew walks, and he doesn't look back.

*

Andrew sees the sun.

He keeps walking.

*

Andrew sees their house.

He stops just short of the door and waits. 

“You should bandage your fingers,” Neil says. “I think I have some agrimony inside. Come on.”

Andrew squeezes his eyes shut. Neil is so close that Andrew can feel his body heat. He thinks he hasn't stood this close to anyone in a year. Actually, he doesn't think he's been touched at all in a year. 

“I'm here,” Neil says. “It's done. You did it. Open your eyes. This isn't a trick.”

Andrew keeps his eyes closed. “How should I know you aren't lying?”

“I don't lie to you,” Neil says. “You know that. I haven't lied to you in years.”

Andrew does know that.

Slowly, half-sure it'll be the biggest mistake he's ever made, Andrew opens his eyes.

Neil has never looked like this before, at least not when Andrew knew him. Death renewed him, unblemished his skin, restored the smoothness of it before his father's torture. His eyes look brighter, somehow; his hair is longer. He's wearing less clothing than Andrew has ever seen on him in public, legs bare, arms bare, shoulders uncovered. The scar from his father's arrow is gone. All the scars are gone. 

“You did it,” Neil says. The corners of his lips drag upward. The sight is so unfamiliar that it takes Andrew too long to figure out that it's a smile. “You brought me back.”

“Are you real?” Andrew asks. He didn't mean to. It slipped out, a lapse in self-control—perhaps he expended all the self-control he's ever going to get by not looking back. Perhaps he's just untethered now, and he'll be like this forever.”

“As real as I've ever been, I guess.”

“Your scars are gone.”

“I know. They went away after I died.”

“If I dug you up,” Andrew says, “would there be anything there?”

“I really wouldn't know.” Neil takes a step closer. “Maybe we can go back to Hades and ask him.”

“Don't say stupid things,” Andrew says, and then realizes Neil is joking. “You were dead for a year.”

“A year,” Neil says faintly, reaching for Andrew's jaw and waiting for Andrew's okay to actually touch it. “It's been that long?”

Andrew wraps a hand around Neil's. “Yes.”

“You were alone for a year.”

Andrew opens his mouth to say, _I hate you_. It won't come out. He kisses Neil instead.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "awful sound (oh, eurydice)" by arcade fire.
> 
> shout out to [defractum](http://defractum.tumblr.com/) for always modding these exchanges! u rock
> 
> come talk to me on [tumblr](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com). please leave a comment if you enjoyed or spotted a typo!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [a way (the find one/make one remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14999129) by [badacts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badacts/pseuds/badacts)




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